


In Continuous Circles

by nitilia



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Depression, Existential Crisis, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 01:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11071284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitilia/pseuds/nitilia
Summary: In which Ryoma doesn't really have a life, and then tries to get one and fails. Atobe's always there. And Fuji, for whatever reason, is dragged in to help.





	In Continuous Circles

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from fanfiction.net.

“Echizen Ryoma,” Ryoma announced, glaring at the mirror above the sink. “I exist.”

 

His reflection gave him a look.

 

“I like cats,” he tried.  “I like sleeping.”

 

The face stayed unconvinced.

 

He sighed, splashing water on his face and leaving the bathroom.  “And I don’t have anything to do.” He imagined his reflection was shaking its head at him.

 

He spent the rest of the day watching an old anime series all over again. He knew nearly every dialogue by heart by now, and fell asleep in the middle of the third episode.

 

* * *

 

 

At precisely four thirty, his phone rang. As always, he ignored it. In exactly three minutes it rang again, and he picked up on the first ring.

 

The man at the other end of the line sighed. “Really, brat, do we have to go through this every day? We both know very well that you can hear it the first time.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ryoma insisted.

 

Atobe sighed again. He sounded unnaturally tired, but he always did these days. “I have to meet a Fuji Syusuke in an hour to discuss the finer aspects of his screenplay,” he said. “And I can’t make it.”

 

“You can’t make it,” Ryoma stated, like this didn’t happen too often for anyone’s good.

 

“Yes, I can’t make it. I’m meeting with Sanada Genichirou to convince him to sign an agreement at the same time.”

 

“Right.”

 

The man almost growled in frustration. “Must I ask every time?”

 

“Ask what?” Ryoma said innocently.

 

“Would you be able to meet him for me?” he ground out.

 

“Who, Sanada?”

 

“No, you imbecile, I meant Fuji.”

 

“Ah, right. Well, I think I’ll be free in the next few hours.”

 

Atobe scoffed. “You make it sound like you haven’t been free every other moment.”

 

The line went dead.

 

* * *

 

An hour and a half later, Ryoma abandoned his TV show marathon and shuffled through his clothes for something decent to wear. The first few times he’d taken Atobe’s place in meetings, he’d showed up in jeans and a plain t-shirt, which apparently wasn’t even close to formal enough. He couldn’t have cared less, and, from what he could tell, the people he was meeting cared much more about Atobe’s absence than his casual appearance, but when Atobe had found out he’d freaked and dragged him into town for a set of ‘formal’ clothes.

 

He eyed the outfit dispassionately. He’d actually worn it a couple of times, but he’d never wear the tie. He simply did not wear ties.

 

In the end, he decided he didn’t feel like being a good person that day, and settled for his jeans and, as a compromise, a button down shirt. He grabbed his phone and a pen and left the house, heading towards the restaurant in the next street.

 

* * *

 

 

The man’s name was Fuji Syusuke, if Ryoma remembered correctly. To his credit, his smile didn’t waver when he realized that Atobe hadn’t arrived.

 

“I see Atobe-san couldn’t make it,” he said pleasantly, tilting his head as he considered him. “Who might you be?”

 

“I’m his stunt double,” Ryoma informed him wryly, twirling the pen between his fingers.

 

“Of course,” Fuji nodded, clearly not believing him. “I wouldn’t have been hurt if he’d told me he couldn’t make it, you know. We could have postponed the meeting. He didn’t have to send you to keep me company.”

 

Ryoma sighed. “Fuji-san, I assure you I am perfectly capable of everything it is that Atobe does for a living. I’m just not paid for it. I was sent here to discuss your project, not to entertain you during your meal.”

 

Fuji considered him. “And what do you know about my story?”

 

Shrewd, this one was. “Well,” he said, thinking, “I admit I wasn’t really informed about it, but you should know that I deal with half of Atobe’s meetings anyway, and everyone’s always happy after they’re over.”

 

Well, happy with the results, at least. They were generally pretty grumpy over his behaviour, but he couldn’t help that.

 

Fuji nodded. “Right.” He pushed a file across the table. “Are you familiar with _The Dark Sins_?”

 

“Sure.” He’d been re-watching it two days ago. It was one of his favourite series.

 

“Good. This is set in the same universe.”

 

For a moment he couldn’t believe his luck. Fuji Syusuke had written The Dark Sins? He briefly wondered if Atobe was really busy that evening or had sent him here on purpose.

 

A waiter arrived, and they both placed their orders, while Ryoma flipped through the file. He was a fairly fast reader, and managed to garner all the facts he needed in a couple of minutes. By the time their food arrived, he’d placed the file neatly at the side of the table, folded his arms, and looked at the man in front of him with newfound respect.

 

“So?” He started. “What did you need to ask Atobe?”

 

* * *

 

 

Atobe, bless his soul, always picked up the first time Ryoma called.  He probably couldn’t bear to risk revenge, because, for all he knew, Ryoma could have been burning his customers alive right then.

 

One of the sad facts of being dependent.

 

“I knew something was up when you said screenplay,” he said once the man picked up. “You usually send me over for creepy architecture stuff.”

 

“Is that so,” Atobe said, barely interested.

 

“Atobe, he’s practically writing a sequel to _The Dark Sins_. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him. He’s _Fuji Syusuke_.”

 

“Is that so,” Atobe said, even less interested than he was two seconds ago.

 

Ryoma scowled. “Even you liked that series. You could at least pretend to be excited about it.”

 

 “I think I was, once, when it wasn’t such an ungodly hour of the night.”

 

Ryoma stopped and looked at the clock. It was well past two. He never followed any particular schedule (because he really did have nothing to do) and would stay awake all night one day, and drop dead by seven another, but Atobe never stayed awake past midnight.

 

“You didn’t even notice, did you,” came the exasperated question.

 

Ryoma felt slightly guilty. “Sorry.”

 

Atobe sighed. “I’m used to it. “ Which, technically, was Ryoma’s fault as well. “How did the meeting go?”

 

“Well, a bit of his story sucked. And there were some parts that didn’t make much sense. It wasn’t really on par with _The Dark Sins_ , but we worked on it a bit, and now it’s a lot better. He said he’d write a bit more and then get back to us.”

 

“Us?”

 

“Well, me, actually. He said he’d like to meet me next time, too, instead of you.”

 

“I suppose I’m losing my job, ahn?”

 

Ryoma grinned. “He also said you should start paying me.”

 

“I suppose I should. Maybe then you’ll stop using my money for every ridiculous notion you have.”

 

He grinned wider. “Nah, I’ll always do that.”

 

“Good to know,” Atobe said dryly. “Now could we continue this conversation tomorrow – I’m sorry, later today?”

 

He ignored the jibe. “One question. Did you really have to meet Sanada?”

 

“Good night, Echizen.”

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, they didn’t continue the conversation the next day. Ryoma fell asleep at around seven in the morning, right on the living room floor, and didn’t move till hours later. His phone rang, and then rang again exactly three minutes later, and then stopped ringing as Atobe realized he was asleep.

 

An hour later, it rang again. When Ryoma finally woke up, he had three missed calls: two from Atobe, and one from Fuji Syusuke.

 

He lay back down flat on the floor and called Fuji first. "Hello?"

 

"Echizen-kun!" He could hear the man's smile over the phone. "I have a question for you."

 

"Yeah?"

 

"What do you think of me making Hiro the traitor instead of Satoshi?"

 

He sat bolt upright. "And how would you explain it?"

 

Fuji launched into a long, detailed explanation, and Ryoma nodded here and there without even realizing that the other couldn't see it.

 

"What do you think?" Fuji asked at last, seeming immensely proud of himself.

 

* * *

 

 

"He's a genius!" Ryoma insisted, when Atobe knocked on his door late in the evening.

 

Atobe smiled wryly. "It's strange to hear you complimenting anyone." He placed a plastic bag on the kitchen counter, which Ryoma knew would contain his dinner. 

 

He peeked inside the bag anyway. "You don't have to buy me food whenever I don't pick up the phone, you know."

 

Atobe snorted. "You don't mean that."

 

"Yeah, I don't," he said cheerfully. He wasn't going to say no to free food plus delivery. "But I was sleeping, not dying."

 

"You surely don't look it."

 

He scowled, good mood vanishing in a second. "What's that supposed to mean?"

 

Atobe gave him a look. "You look pathetic," he informed him. "You look like you haven't left the house for more than an hour in years - oh, but wait, you haven't."

 

His scowl deepened. "And how is that a problem?"

 

Atobe shrugged. "I never said it was. I only said you look like a corpse."

 

* * *

 

Atobe didn't need to skip any meetings for the next month. Ryoma watched _The Dark Sins_ enough times to set a world record. Fuji called now and then for very little reason.

 

* * *

 

 

A month and a half later, after sleeping the whole day, he decided he needed to get a life. He had such epiphanies often, so the thought didn't worry him. He knew he'd grow out of it in a day or two.

 

To humour himself, he called Atobe. "I need to get a life," he told him.

 

Sadly, Atobe was as aware of his fickleness as he was. "If you're that bored, go cook something," he told him. "I'm not sending you food today."

 

It was betrayal in its highest form. "You can't do that," he said, indignant.

 

Atobe sounded smug. "I believe I just did." 

 

The line went dead.

 

He frowned and stared at his phone for five minutes, half expecting Atobe to call and take his words back. 

 

Who was he kidding. The man was more stubborn than he'd ever be.

 

He wandered into the kitchen eventually and stared at the ingredients inside the fridge. He didn't have to do this, he realized. He could just order in or something. He did have enough money.

 

But then he'd be bored again, and he couldn't sleep anymore, so attempting to cook was probably his best bet.

 

His fridge was mostly empty. The only food he ever cooked was the instant kind, but that seemed sinfully easy for a feat as for today. He pulled out the remnants of any vegetables, noodles, pasta, eggs, and whatever the hell he could find, and piled it all up on the kitchen counter. Then he studied his pile with great concentration. 

 

He had absolutely no idea what to do with it. 

 

Cooking, he concluded at last, was simply heating various edible items together in supposedly logical combinations, whilst stirring them to make yourself look dramatic. So that was what he did.

 

When dinner was almost done, his phone rang. It was Fuji.

 

"Echizen-kun! I'm Fuji Syusuke, if you still remember?"

 

Of course he remembered. "What is it?"

 

"Would you like to meet for dinner today?"

 

He stared inside his pot somewhat mournfully. "Actually, I just cooked dinner at home."

 

"Wonderful! Shall I come over, then?"

 

"Fuji-san, I'm not really sure if it's edible."

 

Fuji laughed, the sound heard as static. "Don't worry, I'm told my taste buds are non-existent. Would you give me your address?"

 

* * *

 

 

"You live alone?" Fuji asked, not rudely, as he surveyed his house. 

 

Ryoma shuffled his feet. "Yeah."

 

"Parents? Siblings?"

 

He looked away uncomfortably. "They're in a different country," he lied.

 

"I see." He smiled. "I live alone, too. But that's more because my little brother kicked me out of the house." His expression was fond and wistful. Ryoma didn't see why anyone would be fond of a brother like that.

 

"So," Fuji continued, clasping his hands together, "Where is this disastrous dinner you speak of?"

 

Ryoma was almost ashamed to direct him to it. Fuji stared inside the pot intensely, and then poked at the concoction with a laddle. Then he scooped some up and tasted it.

 

"It's edible!" He declared, smile widening. "And it's also very good."

 

Surprised, Ryoma found a spoon and tasted some himself.

 

It wasn't good. At all. But yes, he supposed it was edible.

 

Once they'd settled down for dinner (which Fuji genuinely liked; he wasn't pretending for courtesy's sake), they finally got down to business. "So, Fuji-san, what did you want to talk about?"

 

"Nothing, actually."

 

Ryoma started. "Huh?"

 

Fuji smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I'm facing a bit of writer's block. I just wanted to get out of the house, so I thought, why not meet with you?"

 

Ryoma replayed their conversation in his head. Sure enough, not once had the man mentioned work. He'd only asked if they could have dinner together.

 

He sank into his seat, feeling somewhat stupid. "Oh."

 

"Is that a problem?"

 

"No, no, not at all." He sat back up. "So you're going to suffer through this sorry excuse for dinner for no reason?" 

 

Fuji shrugged, swallowing another spoonful. "I told you, it's pretty good."

 

Ryoma poked at his own food. "If you say so."

 

They ate in silence for a while. "You don't have a job, do you?" Fuji asked, looking at him curiously.

 

Ryoma shook his head. "Nah. I just help Atobe."

 

"Why don't you ask him to pay you for it? You're much more effective than he is."

 

The compliment cheered him up, but he shrugged it away. "Atobe pretty much pays for everything I do in life," he confessed. 

 

Fuji half smirked. "Right. How do the two of you know each other?"

 

"School."

 

"You were school friends?"

 

He snorted. "No. I wanted to kill him and he found it funny."

 

To Fuji's credit, he didn't seem confused at all.

 

He only left around midnight. They spent most of their time talking, and then somehow or the other they'd ended up watching a movie in Ryoma's room. 

 

* * *

 

 

‘ _I cooked’,_ he texted Atobe, aware that it was, at present, an 'ungodly' hour of the night. It was the closest he'd get to consideration.

 

Surprisingly, the reply was immediate. ‘ _Did you burn the house down? Are the neighbours alive?’_

 

‘ _Everyone is intact. Why are you still awake?’_

 

There was no reply this time. Atobe had got his answer, and that was all that mattered.

 

Scowling, he sent another message. ‘ _Fuji Syusuke ate it, too.’_

 

Again, the reply was immediate. ‘ _Goodness. Is he alive?’_

 

‘ _See, you are awake.’_

 

There was no reply again, and this time Ryoma let him be. Having got on his nerves was enough for him.

 

* * *

 

 

"You're older than me," Ryoma observed, staring at Atobe over the table.

 

"Is that so," Atobe said.

 

"Yes. You're older than me, and yet I'm doing your job. What does that say about you?"

 

"It says that I am so overwhelmed with pity that I'm willing to risk my reputation by trusting a potential three year old with my job."

 

Ryoma considered that. "But that would make you a six year old."

 

Atobe frowned. "Clearly, that was not my point."

 

Ryoma smirked at him and continued eating.

 

"How went the meeting with Fuji?"

 

"Well, we ate, and we watched a movie."

 

Atobe paused, surprised. "I'm sorry?"

 

He shrugged. "It wasn't a business meeting. He just came over for fun."

 

Atobe frowned softly, pulling out his phone and texting someone quickly. "Well, it looks like you're socializing for a change," he said, without looking up from his screen.

 

Ryoma shrugged again.

 

"You should go out more," he continued, like this speech hadn't failed a million times already. "Meet new people. Possibly not look like a corpse."

 

Ryoma scowled. "It's not worth the effort."

 

* * *

 

 

Winter came, and it started to snow.

 

He slept for two full days at a stretch. Both Atobe and Fuji called him too many times. Fuji stopped by his house once to see if something was wrong, but when no one answered his knocks, he left.

 

Atobe visited, too, and left the first time. The second day, he took out his spare key and walked right in like he owned the place. Which he sort of did.

 

He found Ryoma in the kitchen, sleeping in a chair with his head resting on the counter. It had to have been an uncomfortable position to sleep in for two days.

 

He whacked him on the head once. Ryoma grumbled something incoherent and blinked groggily.

 

"What do you want?"

 

"I came to see if you were alive," he told him honestly. "And also, it would be good of you to meet Momoshiro Takeshi for me today."

 

Ryoma scowled. "Architect?"

 

"Obviously. You're due to meet him in three hours. Do hurry up." He deposited a plastic bag on the counter and turned to leave.

 

"I didn't agree!" Ryoma hissed after him.

 

Atobe shrugged and left the house.

 

* * *

 

 

He spent the time between Atobe's departure and his own meeting browsing the internet. When he was reading an article on the various stages of a giraffe's life, an instant message popped up.

 

fujisyusuke: Echizen-kun!

 

ryoma: Fuji-san?

 

fujisyusuke: How are you?

 

ryoma: Fine, I guess?

 

fujisyusuke: You didn't respond to any of my calls.

 

He blinked and checked his phone. Ten missed calls from Fuji, four from Atobe.

 

fujisyusuke: I even dropped by once. You wouldn't open the door.

 

ryoma: Oh. Um. I was sleeping.

 

fujisyusuke: ...

 

fujisyusuke: For two days.

 

ryoma: …yeah.

 

fujisyusuke: I'm not sure if I'm worried or find this funny.

 

ryoma: :/

 

His phone rang just then. When he picked it up, Fuji didn't even pause to say hello.

 

"Does this happen often?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned as well as curious.

 

"I suppose."

 

"Echizen-kun, it's not normal to miss two days of your life. You should see a doctor."

 

He scowled. "Really, it's nothing. I was just tired."

 

"And being that tired is not normal."

 

"Did you call just to lecture me?" Ryoma snapped. This wasn't even any of Fuji's business.

 

Fuji sighed softly. "I'm sorry. I'll talk to you later." There was a click as the line went dead.

 

He glared at his phone for a moment when it rang again, this time with an unknown number.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Echizen, this is Momoshiro Takeshi! If it's not too much trouble, could we move our meeting to a different restaurant?"

 

* * *

 

 

It was still snowing. Ryoma pulled his jacket closer to him and hurried towards the restaurant, breath coming out in puffs. When he finally reached the place, he collapsed in his reserved seat and waited for Momoshiro, while enjoying the warmth of artificial heating.

 

He'd met the man a couple of times before. He was strangely nice, and scarily energetic, and didn't seem to mind Ryoma's presence as much as most other people did. Ryoma used to wonder why people disliked him when they were used to working with Atobe, and then he found out that Atobe kept his attitude to himself in public.

 

Momoshiro seated himself across from him. "I'm sorry about this confusion," he said, grinning sheepishly. "I have another appointment after this, and I couldn't have made it on time if we'd gone to the other restaurant. This is closer to where I’m headed."

 

Ryoma nodded. "Can I see the plan?"

 

Momo rummaged through his bag and handed him a file. Ryoma flipped through it, scanning the sheets with a critical eye, when a familiar face caught his attention from the side.

 

He looked up curiously. Sure enough, there was Atobe, in a distant corner of the restaurant. And with him, was Fuji Syusuke.

 

His eyes widened.

 

Between them was a familiar file - the one that he knew contained Fuji's story. _I would like to meet you next time, too_ and _You're much more effective than Atobe_ echoed in his ears, and for a moment he felt so foolish, so betrayed.

 

Fuji saw him looking and his smile disappeared. Atobe followed his gaze, and when he recognized Ryoma his face went absolutely blank. It was more than enough for Ryoma to confirm his suspicions.

 

He hardened and turned towards Momoshiro, proceeding to make the man hate him.

 

* * *

 

 

People annoyed him. Life annoyed him. Any form of reality annoyed him.

 

A month after a drunk driver took out his parents and his brother in one go, he'd dropped out of college. Another month later, Atobe had turned up at his house and taken a half-starved Karupin away from him, saying he was getting her a better owner who wouldn't neglect her so much. Another month later, when it became clear than he wasn't treating himself any better than he did his cat, he took matters into his own hands. Since then, Ryoma had basically only lived by leeching off of Atobe.

 

He lay flat on the living room floor, staring up at the ceiling blankly. The ground was almost ice cold. Someone knocked on the door, but he ignored it. There was a click as the door opened and footsteps resounded, and then Atobe stood above him, his face carefully blank.

 

"I got a job," Ryoma told him listlessly, still staring straight ahead. That was what Atobe had always wanted to hear, but now he didn't even react. "Architect," he continued.

 

Atobe remained expressionless.

 

"No one was actually satisfied when I met them instead of you, were they," he said dryly. "You always had to reschedule the meetings, right?"

 

Atobe nodded almost microscopically.

 

"I thought I was paying you back all this time. In the end I really _was_ just a dinner companion. Albeit an annoying one who thought I was making myself useful." He paused, feeling sick. "I thought - " He stopped again, shaking his head. "I thought I was _helping_. That I was _important_."

 

For the first time since the accident, he'd felt like someone had needed him.

 

He could feel tears welling in his eyes, so he sat up to hide them. Atobe sighed and sat down in front of him.

 

"You don't have to pay for me anymore," Ryoma said, blinking his eyes rapidly. "Or check up on me. I can manage."

 

Atobe frowned. "We all know where that got you the last time."

 

"I have a job now."

 

"With meagre pay, yes. And knowing you you'll probably starve yourself or forget to wake up for a month."

 

Ryoma shook his head. "I can manage."

 

Atobe watched him with a strange, careful expression. "I wanted to get you out of the house," he admitted, "And it was the only method I could think of." He paused. "Everyone _did_ respect your help," he said slowly. "You were an important influence. They just needed my name at the end."

 

Ryoma shook his head again. "I doubt Fuji needed that. He wasn't even going to credit you."

 

Atobe hesitated. "Fuji was a different case. I'd asked him to get to know you to help you out."

 

He blinked harder, before smirking softly. "I knew his smile was fake."

 

* * *

 

 

Fuji called him relentlessly over the next few days, and Ryoma ignored him. Atobe kept his promise and didn't call even once. 

 

Ryoma, for his part, started piecing his life back together. He sorted out all the junk lying around the house and deposited three full bags of trash outside. He found his old course books and started reading them again. He went to the store and bought enough bread, butter, and instant noodles to last him a couple of weeks. 

 

A week later, he woke up at precisely six in the morning and began his morning routine, a routine he'd last followed three years ago.

 

When he caught his own eye in the mirror, he smirked at himself. "Echizen Ryoma," he said, staring himself down. "I'm an architect."

 

The words tasted foul on his tongue, and his reflection looked as unconvinced as it always did.

 

* * *

 

The office was a nice place. His fellow workers were quiet, diligent, and his boss was kind. He was set to work on a project with four others, and he found himself fitting in better than he expected.

 

He didn't like anyone. Not really. But he could work with them. He took a hint from Atobe and kept his attitude to himself, and sure enough, things proceeded smoothly.

 

When he got home each night, he cooked himself dinner, ate it, and went straight to bed at seven. He slept through weekends almost continuously.

 

Day after day, night after night, he followed the same routine. People annoyed him. Life annoyed him. But if he kept working, he couldn't stop to remember that.

 

* * *

 

 

At the end of the month he collected his salary, kept enough to sustain him for the next month, and then headed over to see Atobe for the first time in weeks.

 

The man looked even more tired than Ryoma remembered him. He had prominent circles under his eyes, and his hair was in disarray. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Ryoma.

 

"You look like a corpse," Ryoma informed him good naturedly. Atobe scowled.

 

Ryoma handed him an envelope containing the remnants of his salary, and Atobe eyed it suspiciously.

 

"What is this?"

 

Ryoma shrugged. "I'm trying to pay you back."

 

Atobe's expression hardened. "You don't have to."

 

He was offended, that was clear. "I'm not trying to insult you," Ryoma told him honestly. "I just really want to pay you back. Or I'll feel guilty."

 

Atobe sighed. "You can't accept help when you get it, can you. I'd never expected anything in return."

 

Ryoma shook his head and held out the envelope again. "Take it anyway."

 

Atobe did. "How's your job?"

 

Ryoma thought about it. "Steady," he noted.

 

"...That's not what I meant. Is it fun? Boring? A criminal waste of time?"

 

Ryoma considered it again. "Steady," he repeated.

 

Atobe seemed about to say something, but then he looked sad and stopped.

 

* * *

 

 

Two months. He managed to push himself for two full months before he couldn't see a point to it anymore. He didn't like his life. Atobe didn't want payment. Why was he even doing this?

 

It took him no time to start skipping meals again. He was always tired. His co-workers were starting to notice and expressed their concern on more than one occasion. 

 

He called in sick at work one day and spent his time wandering the streets, when he noticed a familiar display in a shop window. _The Darker Ones_.

 

In a flash he remembered a mop of brown hair, blue eyes, and late night conversations that didn't have a point. And then he remembered silencing his phone day after day to avoid the same caller until he gave up. 

 

After hesitating a moment, he entered the store to examine the DVD. He was reading the summary on the back of the cover, one hand stuffed in his pocket when a voice snapped him out of it.

 

"Echizen-kun?"

 

He looked up. "Fuji-san?"

 

Fuji smiled brightly. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

 

Well, that _had_ been the plan. 

 

"What do you say I take you out for lunch?" He looked at him knowingly. "I think you need it."

 

He couldn't find a reason to say no, so he agreed.

 

They went to a small sushi shop nearby. Ryoma had never been there before, but it seemed rather nice.

 

"I'm sorry we parted on bad terms," Fuji told him, genuine sincerity in his eyes. "It's true that Atobe asked me to get to know you, but I wasn't pretending anything when I was with you."

 

It didn't actually matter to him anymore. "It's okay. I'm sorry I ignored your phone calls."

 

Fuji shook his head. "I would have done the same. On the bright side," he pulled out the DVD from his bag and waved it dramatically in the air. "It's finally out! All that work paid off! Do you want to watch it with me today?" 

 

Ryoma smiled. "Sure."

 

* * *

 

 

After they finished the DVD and Fuji left, Ryoma stared at his blinking laptop screen for hours.

 

This was what his life had been mere months ago.

 

Without really thinking, he picked up his phone and dialled the only number he knew by heart, even though it was an ungodly hour of the night.

 

Atobe's voice was groggy but worried. "Brat, is everything alright?"

 

"Atobe." His voice was shakier than he would have liked. "Atobe, I don't know what I'm doing."

 

There was a soft sigh from the other end of the line. "And when do you ever?"

 

"I don't want to do anything anymore," he confessed. "Getting a life didn't help."

 

"You need a break," Atobe told him. "Take a few days off. You'll get better."

 

He didn't reply to that. He could feel tears welling again, and he didn't even know why.

 

"Echizen?" 

 

"I -" he let out a shaky breath to calm himself. "I don't like going outside. I don't like waking up. I just…I just want to stop."

 

There was a long silence at the other end. Ryoma tried to hold his tears back.

 

"You haven't cried since the accident," Atobe told him quietly.

 

And he let the tears fall.

 

 Because Atobe was wrong, nothing was going to get better. His family wasn’t coming back. He couldn’t even get himself back. There was no more reason to hope, no more reason to keep going, because things could only ever get worse and he didn't think he could take it anymore.

 

It wasn’t fair, that people had to move forward even when they didn’t want to.

 

He couldn’t anymore.

 

Atobe wordlessly listened to his tears, till it was late in the morning and he’d cried himself to sleep.

 

 

 

 


End file.
